


Arashibana

by harinezumi_kun



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harinezumi_kun/pseuds/harinezumi_kun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nino is the most popular and most skilled <i>onnagata</i> in the Arashibana-za Theater, and he has earned the right to be difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arashibana

**Author's Note:**

> oh jeez, what did i do 8D;; well, i wrote arashi in edo period Japan as the cast and staff at a kabuki theater, that's what! 
> 
> More Notes: so, i've taken a number of classes on edo period lit, several of which have had considerable focus on theater in general and kabuki in specific. so naturally i sat in my lectures imagining the version that starred arashi :DDD  
> \+ i apologize for a number of obscure Japanese terms throughout this fic - there will be footnotes at the bottom, for anyone who is curious.  
> \+ i tried to make this as historically accurate as possible and to the extent that it facilitated my plot :x so, if you are superlatively informed about edo period japan and don't like inaccuracy...beware!  
> \+ special thanks: to gimmick_game for initially egging me on to start this fic! and also to aeslis for lots of encouragement, inspiration, brain-storming, and a superior beta job ♥

Nino sits, unmoving, watching his face in the mirror—the face of Ninomiya Ibara. He has gotten used to thinking of himself as “Nino”, though he was born just Kazunari—but neither of those would do for the grand kabuki stages of Kyoto. 

Just now he looks very much the part: he is still in full kabuki costume, wig, and make-up, the very image of a high-class courtesan. The massive, decorative obi around his torso keeps his posture rigid, and the thick layer of make-up keeps his face pale and nearly expressionless. He turns his head just slightly to examine himself, and the metal ornaments in his wig tinkle delicately. 

The mirror itself is very large, and very expensive, and Nino spends a good deal of time looking into it. Not especially because he likes what he sees, but because he knows doing so makes people think he is vain. Once they have decided this, they rarely try to dig deeper, and that is how Nino likes it. 

“I thought we had agreed,” he says softly, “that I no longer take gentlemen callers after the show.”

Jun shifts irritably in his _seiza_ , crossing his arms. “I am not breaking our agreement—he is only a patron who wishes to meet you. To talk.”

Nino’s eyes flick over to Jun’s reflection in the mirror. It is still strange to see Jun like this, as Lord Matsumoto, with a tonsure and a sword at his waist and a kimono of expensive black silk. Nino remembers Jun as a long-limbed, shaggy-haired boy who used to climb into the rafters of the theater with him and Aiba on hot summer afternoons. But that was years ago.

“I do not want to talk to him,” Nino says, and Jun’s scowl deepens. But Nino knows that he has the power to refuse this—he is the most popular and most skilled _onnagata_ in the Arashibana-za Theater, and he has earned the right to be difficult.

“He seems harmless enough,” Sho offers from his seat next to Jun. Sho, too, is in full kabuki regalia—a vibrant kimono, dramatic make-up, and elaborate wig. Usually Sho just manages the Arashibana-za, but the actor who regularly plays their hero took a fall from the _hanamichi_ during rehearsals and threw out his back. Really, Shintarou is too old to be performing anymore, but none of his apprentices are good enough to replace him. Everyone knows this will soon become a problem, but for the time being, Sho has the training and skill to fill in. 

“He just wants to talk to you,” Jun repeats. “He is just an admirer, and a faithful patron. His parents have been bringing him here since my father opened the theater.”

“Let him talk to Yuri, then” Nino returns airily, and hears a little gasp from the young boy waiting discreetly by the door. “He is still young enough to be entertaining visitors after hours.”

“If—if Lord Matsumoto wishes…” Yuri begins.

“That will not be necessary,” Jun says gently, then turns back to Nino. “Believe me when I say that there is nothing at all untoward about this visit. The Ohno family are some of our most loyal supporters, and their son is a great admirer of your work. I imagine their donations to the theater will become even more generous, if only you will talk to him for a short time.”

Nino wants to refuse, wants to remind Jun how he promised Nino that he would never again be subjected to the duties of a lowly _iroko_ , but they have known each other for too long, and Jun knows how to get what he wants.

“I do not need to remind you of the unique allowances you enjoy here. Very few other performers would wish to continue in the same venue year after year, and none other than you have ever been allowed it.” Jun’s voice lowers, softens. “Please, Nino. Do this for me.”

There is a pause, and then Nino sighs, letting the tiniest scowl pucker his perfectly painted lips. Jun is already smirking victoriously.

“Five minutes,” Nino says.

“Thirty,” Jun shoots back.

“Ten, and only if he is not completely unfortunate looking.”

“Twenty-five, and you may have an additional song in the next show.”

“Fifteen, and I will write it myself.”

“Twenty, and I will consider it.”

Nino’s eyes narrow, but Jun is unblinking. “Done,” Nino says finally, and Jun nods, then motions for Sho to go and fetch their visitor. “You do not play fair, _Lord_ Matsumoto,” Nino says as Sho leaves.

Jun does not miss the sarcasm heaped onto his formal title, but only smiles, rising after Sho has left and coming to stand behind Nino. 

“I cannot play fair if I want to win against you, _Master_ Ninomiya,” Jun replies. He flicks at one of Nino’s hair ornaments teasingly. “You will stay in costume, then? If you like, we can make him wait while you change.”

Nino waves a dismissive hand. “This is what he wants to see, I imagine. This is all he needs to see.”

Their eyes meet again in the mirror, and Jun has always been better at reading Nino than Nino would like, even through all the make-up and finery. Jun’s expression softens, but before he can say anything else, Sho returns, sliding the door to Nino’s dressing room open and announcing himself and the guest.

“Master Ninomiya,” Sho says formally, “young lord Satoshi, of the Ohno household.”

The young man who shuffles in after Sho is not at all the strutting, pasty-faced nobleman Nino had expected from Jun’s description—someone who let his parents drag him to the theater every week, and who was used to getting what he wanted. Instead, Ohno is small, and seems even smaller with the way he slouches and keeps his arms folded in the sleeves of his modest blue kimono. He has long hair, like Jun, but no tonsure: it is simply pulled back into a top-knot. His face is round, and dark, as if he spends plenty of time out in the sun, and his eyes are sloe and sleepy. Now, he is looking around the room as if he is not quite sure how he got there. Somehow, Ohno is almost charming, and not at all what Nino expected.

Nino likes things that exceed his expectations. He _does not_ like the knowing smirk on Jun’s face.

Nino has turned from the mirror and makes a practiced bow, his fingertips creating a little triangle on the floor as he lowers his head. Ohno drops quickly into a _seiza_ to return the gesture.

“Well,” Jun says, moving towards the door, “we will leave you. Yuri, some warm _sake_ , if you please.”

Yuri scrambles to obey, and Jun beckons to Sho to follow him. Before exiting, Sho passes close to Nino, dropping a hand to his shoulder and leaning in to speak in a stage-whisper.

“I will be nearby, should you need any assistance.” Sho fixes Ohno with a hard stare as he speaks, and releases the clasp on his sword to bare a few inches of steel. The sword is, of course, only a prop, but it is one of Aiba’s finest. It convinces Ohno, anyway—the sword and the combination of Sho’s dramatic red eye-liner and fiercely enhanced eyebrows has the visitor swallowing nervously, and perhaps reconsidering his decision to make a trip backstage.

“Master Sakurai,” Jun hisses, “I’m sure no one will be needing your assistance.”

Nino gives Sho a tiny grin, and acknowledges his offer with a brief dip of his head. After Sho and Jun have left, Nino folds his hands demurely in his lap. Ohno is still looking around the room, scratching his nose distractedly.

“My lord,” Nino says softly, making Ohno jump. “You wished to talk with me?”

“Oh, uh,” Ohno shifts into a more comfortable cross-legged position. “Well, that—you see…I don’t mean to be rude, but—well, this wasn’t really my idea.”

Nino blinks, but otherwise keeps his expression neutral.

“Not that I didn’t want to meet you!” Ohno says quickly. “I did—I do, but, I just said it, without thinking, after the performance, and my father overheard and decided to ask Lord Matsumoto, and then mother insisted as well, and…I did not mean to disturb you.”

Ohno’s words come out in a rush—mumbled, sheepish—and he looks so honestly apologetic that Nino cannot help but smile.

“You are not disturbing me, lord. I hear you are an admirer of our theater.”

“Yes,” Ohno says, giving an emphatic nod. “My parents have been taking me to see kabuki since I was young. I…I like it very much.”

They continue with small talk while Yuri pours warm _sake_ for them both, and despite himself, Nino is intrigued. Ohno is obviously well-to-do, from a merchant family rather than a samurai line, but still it is strange how he hardly uses any formal language, how he looks Nino in the eye when he speaks, rather than at his _sake_ cup or down into his lap. Nino does not understand Ohno’s tan face when most nobles keep their skin moon-pale, or the calluses he catches sight of on Ohno’s elegant hands. 

“Fishing,” Ohno answers with a smile, when Nino makes careful mention of it. “I’m not much for hunting, or poetry, and there’s a nice broad river near our estate.”

And Nino likes how Ohno asks questions that no one else has ever asked—how long has Nino been acting? Does the make-up itch? What was it like to perform for the first time? Most of the visitors Nino received, before he refused to do so any longer, only wanted to talk about themselves, or to not talk at all. But Ohno is an excellent listener. Without meaning to, Nino finds himself answering Ohno’s questions thoughtfully and at length, and before he realizes how much time has passed, Jun is sliding open the door to let Ohno know the theater is closing for the evening.

“Oh,” Ohno says, looking surprised. “I suppose I should make my leave…”

Nino gives another bow, annoyed at how annoyed he is to see Ohno go. “It was a pleasure, my lord.”

Ohno rises, and moves to follow Jun who has already started away down the hall. However, before he exits the room completely, Ohno turns back with a hesitant, hopeful look on his face.

“May—may I presume to visit you again?” he asks, almost in a whisper, as if he thinks he might get in trouble just for asking.

Nino pauses, just for a moment, knowing he should demure, shouldn’t encourage Ohno’s attentions. But instead, he smiles.

“You may,” he says, and Ohno brightens, “but only if, next time, I may ask questions about you.”

Ohno blinks a few times, seeming surprised that anyone would want to do such a thing.

“I—yes, I suppose…yes.”

Nino smiles as Ohno leaves, then turns back to his mirror with a sigh, and beckons for Yuri to come and help him remove his wig. It is a lengthy process, and amid the renewed jangling of hair ornaments, Yuri ventures a timid: “He was quite handsome.”

There is a faint blush high in Yuri’s cheeks, and Nino decides that next time, Yuri can wait in the hallway.

*

It is a week before Ohno visits again, and in the meantime, the cast of the Arashibana-za begins rehearsing a new play. It features demons and ghosts, perfect for the summer season, and Nino’s pages of the script are delivered with a short note from Jun about going to buy new kimono fabrics before the next run of shows. Ohno notices the little sheaf of papers when he joins Nino in the dressing room, and Nino allows him a look, when he asks. Almost absently, Ohno reads a few of the lines aloud.

“Nicely read,” Nino says with a touch of surprise, and Ohno starts bashfully.

“I always thought it would be fun to try, you know,” Ohno murmurs. “Acting, I mean.”

“On the kabuki stage?” Nino asks, and Ohno nods.

“But I’ve never had the training, and my parents would probably disown me if I tried,” Ohno laughs, dismissing so easily the dream he had just been speaking of with shining, faraway eyes.

“Show me,” Nino says immediately. He moves back, giving Ohno room. Ohno just stares at him.

“What? My acting? Oh, no, I couldn’t—I’ve never—just by myself, you know, for fun…” He trails off when he sees that Nino is dead serious. “Here?”

Nino just nods. “Anything is fine, anything you know.”

Ohno sighs and looks put-upon, but Nino thinks, as Ohno takes a wide-legged stance in the center of the room, that he can see just a hint of excitement in the other man’s eyes. 

Ohno takes a deep breath, and begins.

*

“He wasn’t perfect,” Nino tells Aiba the next day. “But he was very good for an amateur.”

Out of costume, and in only a simple yukata, Nino is barely recognizable, which he prefers. Currently, he is seated with Aiba in the middle of the empty theater, eating sweet buns from the street vendor and watching Aiba’s crew dismantle last night’s set. It is an elaborate piece—a castle, with two stories, and the whole structure rotates to reveal a temple-set on the backside—all of Aiba’s design. Sho and Jun are on stage as well, moving among the workmen, while Jun points and gestures, outlining plans for a new set piece he has in mind. 

“He had the lines memorized,” Nino continues when Aiba doesn’t respond. “And his intonation was quite good.”

“You’ve got an idea, haven’t you,” Aiba says through a mouthful. His eyes are on the stage, and though he seems completely relaxed, Nino knows Aiba will be on his feet the moment any part of his set is handled incorrectly.

“We have no replacement for Shintarou,” Nino replies simply.

“The hard part will be convincing Jun,” Aiba points out, skipping right over the fact that Ohno has no formal training and is the son of a noble house. 

“It will take time,” Nino says by way of agreement. 

But then, Nino does not really mind taking time, with Ohno.

*

On Ohno’s third visit, they play _karuta_ , which Ohno is terrible at, but he seems to find this more amusing than anything else. After watching Ohno lose spectacularly for the fifth time, Nino offers to play him a song, instead. He has Yuri bring his _shamisen_ and when, halfway through, Ohno begins to sing along in a lovely tenor, Nino is delighted.

Later, as Ohno is preparing to leave, Nino bows, giving his usual “Goodnight, my lord.”

Nino feels a gentle hand on his sleeve, and sits up to find Ohno giving him a shy kind of smile.

“There is no need for ‘my lord’,” he mutters. “Just ‘Satoshi’.”

Nino’s eyes widen just slightly, and he turns his head down and away. “I could not.”

Ohno looks mildly disappointed, but tries again. “Just ‘Ohno’, then?”

“I—if you wish,” Nino begins, and Ohno says quickly: “I do.”

A little pause, then: “Just…Ohno.”

Ohno nods, once, satisfied, and turns to leave. Before he can, Nino grabs the hem of his kimono. He is still in his make-up, hands painted the same matte white as his face. It will leave a smudge. Someone will notice, and people will talk. Nino does not care.

“And,” he says to Ohno, who has turned to look back curiously. “Just Nino.”

Ohno’s expression goes blank with surprise for a moment, and then he smiles beatifically. 

“Nino,” he repeats softly. “Just Nino.”

*

On the fourth visit, Nino wants to see Ohno perform again, and then again on his next visit, and the next. And while it is true that Ohno is not professionally trained, he has been watching kabuki all his life and it shows.

Ohno can modulate his voice to nearly any role—a strong tenor for the hero, a growling baritone for the villain, and even the high warbling pitch of the _onnagata_. He performs drama and tragedy beautifully, as well has having an innate sense of timing for comedy. If he misspeaks, or missteps, he is quick to pick up any correction Nino gives him, and seems enthusiastic to improve.

With real training, Ohno could easily surpass Shintarou, or any of the actors who are currently the stars of the Kyoto stages. Alongside the Arashibana-za’s current cast, he could take the company to even greater heights. He would be good for the theater.

“And I’m sure,” Jun says wryly, “that none of this is in any way related to the fact that you would then be playing opposite him almost every night.”

“I’m sure,” Nino mimes back at him, “I do not know what you could mean by that remark.”

The four of them—Jun, Nino, Aiba, and Sho—are sprawled out across the tatami of one of the rooms of Jun’s manor, the remains of their dinner cluttering the low table. The _shoji_ doors leading out to the garden are open, letting in the drone of cicadas and the faint tinkling of the small creek that winds through the yard. In the seventh month of the year, the air is heavy and warm, even in the evening, and the open doors bring in only the faintest breeze.

“You must like him, to let him keep coming back,” Aiba speaks up from the porch, where he has several spinning-tops out, trying to see how long he can keep them all going at once.

Sho giggles, having let himself get rather drunk. He is on his back now, gazing up at the ceiling sleepily. “ _I no longer take gentlemen callers_ ,” he chirps in a very poor impression of Nino.

“Yes, I like him,” Nino says, “but only because he is interesting, and he would be good for the theater.”

Jun clicks his tongue and rolls to his stomach. “Since when do you care?”

“The Arashibana-za is my home,” Nino says softly. Jun looks up at him, and Nino sees a flash of something in the younger man’s eyes, though he’s not sure what.

“Nevertheless, it is impossible,” Jun sighs after a moment. “Ohno is a lord, a merchant. It simply is not done.”

Nino does not press the issue, but he knows he does not have to. The seed has been planted in Jun’s mind now, and Nino sees it stirring the next time Jun escorts Ohno back to the dressing room. And if Nino thinks he hears soft footsteps outside his door when Ohno is reciting for him again, it only makes him smile to himself, and urge Ohno to speak a little more loudly.

*

On another visit, when Ohno discovers that Nino writes music as well as playing it, he requests a performance immediately. After some wheedling, Nino plays him one of his own compositions, one he has never played on stage, one he has never played for anyone. He sings lyrics also of his own creation, and these he sings in his own voice, rather than the wavering falsetto he is accustomed to.

“What is it called?” Ohno asks softly, when Nino has finished.

“ _Past_ ,” Nino says without looking up from his _shamisen_. “But it is written as _Traces_.” Ohno looks puzzled, and Nino takes a brush and ink stone from his dressing table and writes the kanji out on a scrap of paper. He hands it over to Ohno, holding the long sleeve of his kimono out of the way.

Ohno looks up from the graceful characters and straight into Nino’s eyes—it’s still disconcerting, how he does that, even after all this time.

“Can I ask,” Ohno begins tentatively, “who it’s about?”

Nino opens his mouth to lie, like he usually does, to say that it’s not about anyone, that it’s just a story he pulled from his imagination. But for some reason, with Ohno, what comes out is the truth.

“My mother,” Nino answers in a whisper. And he can’t look away from Ohno as he tells the rest of it, how his mother never wanted to sell him into the theater life, but there were bills to pay, and his father was a fierce, temperamental man. How the first thing Nino did, once he had the means, was to take his mother and sister away from his father’s house. Even then it had been too late—his mother had been coughing blood for a year already, but at least he was able to give her a warm and comfortable place to spend her last weeks.

Ohno holds Nino’s gaze as he speaks, and when Nino has finished, Ohno moves to sit by his side. It is closer than they have ever been, but Ohno does it so naturally, so simply, that Nino does not even have time to feel uncomfortable or wonder if it is inappropriate.

“I’m sorry,” Ohno says softly.

Nino makes a small, dismissive noise, but otherwise remains quiet. His head is still spinning a bit from everything he just said, from Ohno’s proximity, and how he suddenly realizes it is not nearly as close as he wants it to be.

*

After the first dozen visits, Nino begins to lose track. Ohno is easier to talk to than almost anyone Nino knows, and seems familiar in a way that makes Nino feel like he has known Ohno for years instead of only weeks. Ohno does not seem to want anything from Nino other than his companionship, he does not act with the usual awareness of distance that others have. Nino begins to speak less formally, to laugh more often and more loudly.

But not all of his barriers come down so easily. He still meets Ohno in full costume. If he is honest with himself, he knows there is a little fear there—that Ohno will not like what is under all the glamour.

One night, Nino decides to turn the tables a little, and offers to show Ohno how to apply the kabuki make-up. Ohno hesitates for only a moment, but then his excitement gets the better of him, and soon he is painted as white as Nino, to Nino’s great amusement.

“Well, where shall we go from here?” Nino asks, once he has controlled his laughter. “I think the blue would suit you—”

“I want,” Ohno interrupts, then seems to think better of it. Nino raises an eyebrow, and eventually Ohno continues. “How can I make it look like yours?”

“Oh,” Nino says. He stares down at his row of brushes for a moment, feeling strangely flustered, then picks up the small, pointed eye-brush and coats it in red. He makes to hand it to Ohno, but the other man shakes his head.

“Show me?” he asks, scooting closer, presumably to make it easy for Nino to reach him, until their knees are touching and there is barely an arm’s length separating them.

Nino lets out a slow, careful breath through his nose and nods. He reaches forward and places his free hand against Ohno’s face, lightly, barely touching with just his fingertips, to hold him still.

“Look up,” he commands softly. Ohno does, and Nino begins with a bold streak of crimson.

He follows suit on Ohno’s other eye, then changes to a thicker brush in black for the eyebrows. He tries to keep up a running narration as he goes, since he is ostensibly teaching Ohno how to do this, but he finds his voice trailing away the longer he stares at Ohno’s face. Lips are last, and Nino takes his time choosing just the right size of brush, and just the right shade of red. He places his hand against Ohno’s face again, tipping his chin up slightly.

“Open your mouth, just a little,” Nino says, wondering why the words come out as a whisper. Ohno does as he is told, never taking his eyes off Nino’s face.

Slowly, more carefully than he has ever done for himself, Nino paints a perfect little strawberry shape over Ohno’s mouth. Ohno’s lips are so small and plush, they do not need much help to be made very appealing. As he finishes his last brush stroke, Nino’s gaze comes to focus on the damp glimmer he can see just past Ohno’s lips, and he notices that he can feel Ohno’s slow breaths against his chin. At the same time as he realizes how much closer he has somehow moved towards Ohno, he can suddenly see himself—

_—leaning forward the rest of the way to catch Ohno’s mouth with his own, tasting the make-up on him as he slides his tongue past Ohno’s lips, sliding his hands past the collar of Ohno’s kimono, leaving streaks of talc all across his chest and ribs—_

Nino pulls back abruptly, drops his brush onto the table with a clatter and turns away.

“Nino…?” Ohno begins hesitantly.

“I’m sorry,” Nino says, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. “I’m not…feeling well. Perhaps I should retire for the evening.”

“Oh,” he hears Ohno say. There is a pause, and then the other man stands. Nino does not turn as he listens to Ohno move toward the door.

“Well…goodnight, Nino,” Ohno murmurs.

“Goodnight,” Nino returns. There is another pause, and Nino counts it in pounding heartbeats. Eventually the door slides open, closed again, and Ohno is gone.

Out in the hallway, someone starts laughing hysterically—Ohno is still in full make-up—but Nino can only stare at his hands and wonder how much longer he will be able to convince himself all he feels for Ohno is a passing interest.

*

“It will not work,” Jun says one night after Ohno has left. Nino is in the middle of removing his make-up—the basin of water in front of him has turned a thick, chalky white.

“Of what, pray tell, do you speak, my lord?” Nino responds, affecting the lilting tones of the princess he played in the evening performance.

“Lord Ohno cannot just take Shintarou’s place. Not without training.”

“Then let him train,” Nino says, in his own voice now. “His parents have already entrusted the family business to his brother-in-law, so there can be no argument on that front.”

Jun raises an eyebrow. “You seem very familiar with his family situation.”

“I have only been talking to him, as you requested.”

Jun watches silently for a time, sprawled on his side across the tatami with one hand propping up his head. Nino begins washing his neck, beads of water trailing across his bare chest and shoulders and leaving lines of gray where they pass.

“Are you doing this for the theater?” Jun asks eventually. “Or for yourself?”

Nino does not reply. He does not have an answer.

*

When Ohno comes again, Nino finally mentions, in his most off-handed manner, what he has been discussing with Jun. Ohno’s face goes strangely blank, and for a moment, Nino fears he has offended him.

“Lord Matsumoto would let me?” Ohno says finally. “He would let me train here?”

Nino gives an eloquent shrug. “If you truly wish to make the attempt, I’m sure I can bring him around.”

Silence falls for a time, but this is something else Nino has become acclimated to, with Ohno—this is a thoughtful silence. And while Ohno thinks, so does Nino, noting the pattern of quince-flowers across Ohno’s kimono. They have entered the ninth month, already three months—a whole season—since Ohno began his visits. The end of the theater season is approaching as well, and it will give Ohno the time he needs to begin proper training, before shows start up again after the New Year. Nino wonders what he will do, if Ohno accepts his proposal. He wonders how things will change.

The theater breathes quietly around them—old boards creaking in the hall, soft footsteps far away on the stage—and after a time, Ohno speaks again.

“You would do this for me?” Ohno asks, and Nino is reminded uncomfortably of Jun’s question from the previous night.

“Of course,” Nino answers. He tries to sound flippant, light, and is glad for how much his make-up hides.

“Nino,” Ohno says, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he can read Nino’s mind and is trying to see past all his layers of paint and silk. “When I come tomorrow…”

“Yes?” Nino prompts, when Ohno trails off.

“Next time,” Ohno continues. “Next time, will you…no costume. No make-up. Just Nino.”

Nino knows he should look away, but now—as always—Ohno’s gaze holds him. Already he feels like he is giving so much away. What will it be like to be bared completely in front of Ohno? Nino is terrified. And yet.

“Yes,” Nino agrees, barely a whisper.

*

Immediately after the final performance of the night, Nino finds Sho—in costume again, this time as a simple extra, a nameless samurai henchman—and tells him that he will need a little more time before meeting Ohno tonight.

“To change,” he clarifies, when Sho raises a curious eyebrow.

And Sho knows, then, that something is going on, and Nino wonders how he ever thought he was anything more than transparent to those he most cares for.

Before Nino can move away, Sho lays a hand on his shoulder. “Jun told me, about Ohno coming to train here, when the season ends. But this is something else, for you, isn’t it?”

Nino’s face twists in an annoyed scowl. “And if it is?”

“I hope only that you will be careful,” Sho says with a rueful grin. “I know you—your heart is fierce, but easily captured. Easily broken.”

“Poet,” Nino says, and it is not a compliment, but it is said with a smile. Because though he plays at aristocratic refinement outside of the Arashibana-za, Sho has always taken care of Nino. Sho has taken care of Nino even when Sho himself was a spindly eighteen-year-old and hardly big enough to be taking care of anybody, even when Nino told him to stop, and even when it ended in bruises for Sho and a minor scandal for the theater.

Nino rests his own hand briefly atop Sho’s on his shoulder. “You do not need to protect me anymore.”

“But I will,” Sho returns simply, before walking away in the direction of the auditorium, likely to intercept Ohno.

Nino smiles to himself, happy for the things that stay the same.

*

Once he is back in his dressing room, Nino rids himself of costume and make-up with Yuri’s help, then sends the boy away, giving him the night off, which Yuri does not look nearly as excited about as he should. After Yuri is gone, Nino looks himself over in the mirror one last time, feeling his trepidation rising anew.

He looks nothing like a normal man of his social standing, except that he is still pale without the make-up, and not sun-darkened like Ohno, who should be fair. His hair is much shorter than fashion demands, and he does not shave the top of his head, but it is too much trouble to keep it long and in a tonsure when he is always wearing wigs and can hide his unshaven head with the _onnagata_ ’s cloth cap. His face is marred here and there with little moles and freckles, his lips are thin, and there are dark circles under his eyes that he has never been able to get rid of. For this meeting, he picked out his simplest garment: a plain, dove-gray yukata beneath a darker obi, and nothing else besides his undergarments and the white _tabi_ socks on his feet.

Ohno asked for this, he reminds himself, so he has no call to be disappointed if he does not like what he sees. And maybe Nino is the only one putting so much importance into this moment—maybe this is not, to Ohno, what it is to Nino. He tells himself not to take everything so seriously, and decides to play a little joke on Ohno.

Before the other man arrives, Nino moves to kneel by the door, in Yuri’s usual spot. Out of costume, he will surely be mistaken for a servant, and what fun to make Ohno wonder where Nino could be.

A few minutes later, the door slides open, and Ohno enters unannounced, as he has been doing for some time. He glances briefly at Nino, then moves farther into the room and makes himself comfortable. Ohno is looking around absently, and Nino is struggling to contain his laughter, wondering if he should carry the joke further and offer to bring Ohno something to drink, when the other man speaks softly.

“Well? Will you come sit with me, Nino?”

Nino’s breath catches, his head jerks up, and he finds Ohno looking straight at him. Nino looks at Ohno closely for the first time since he entered the room, and sees that Ohno, too, is dressed simply, in a kimono of unadorned brown with a plain black obi. Instead of a topknot, his hair is pulled into a loose tail at the nape of his neck. It is not as long as Nino imagined, falling only just past his shoulders, and without the usual oil to keep it slicked back, Ohno’s hair looks soft. Nino feels a sudden, desperate urge to fist his hands in it. He swallows hard.

Ohno watches this with clear, expectant eyes, then raises a hand towards Nino. Nino rises and crosses the room, pausing in front of Ohno and his outstretched hand. Ohno is looking straight up into Nino’s eyes, and there is no trace of disgust or disappointment in his face, only patience and a deep, warm affection. Nino takes Ohno’s hand, so aware that this is the first time they have ever touched skin to skin, and lets himself be pulled down to kneel in front of the other man.

They do not speak, only taking each other in. Nino keeps his free hand clenched in his yukata, knowing that to reach out and touch would be overstepping his bounds, and that once he starts touching Ohno, it will be nearly impossible to stop. Ohno, however, seems to feel no such reservation, and when his hand comes up to trace lightly across Nino’s cheek, Nino has to close his eyes and fight back a shudder. He feels Ohno’s finger pause on his chin, right over the mole there, and opens his eyes again to find Ohno watching him with a silly little smile.

“I always,” Ohno murmurs wonderingly, “I always thought you were beautiful, but this…”

Ohno’s words fade away on a soft sigh, and Nino waits anxiously for the rest of the sentence.

“This?” Nino prompts after a moment, and Ohno just chuckles.

“It is so different,” he says. Then, when Nino’s brows furrow: “I like it.”

Nino feels himself blush, and blushes harder knowing that Ohno can see it. He slaps Ohno’s hand away from his face and lets go of Ohno’s other hand to cross his arms, feigning annoyance.

“Well, you needn’t poke at me, I’m the same person as I was before.”

“Yes,” Ohno says with a bemused grin. “You are.”

*

On most of the visits after this, Nino meets Ohno out of costume, without even the nod to femininity he usually maintains in public—a lady’s kimono and simple wig, at the least—and it takes some getting used to. At first, Ohno stares endlessly, delighted by Nino as a boy, by his short hair and unpainted face, by his higher propensity for vulgarity and sarcasm out of costume. No amount of Nino complaining can dissuade him, and for a time it becomes a game—how long can Ohno go without looking, and how long can Nino go without looking to see if Ohno is looking?

One evening, to up the challenge, they sit back to back while Ohno helps Nino practice his lines. Despite being unable to see Ohno’s face—or maybe just for that reason—Nino feels even more aware of him, the way he moves as he breathes and the faint sounds he makes, and the smell of the camellia oil in his hair. 

“Let’s go somewhere,” Ohno says suddenly, making it sound reckless and dramatic when he interrupts Nino’s monologue for his proposal.

“What? Now?” Nino asks, frozen in the middle of an exaggerated illustrative gesture.

“No,” Ohno amends. “I just mean…sometime. But, soon. When do you have an afternoon free?”

“Two days after tomorrow.” Nino eyes Ohno suspiciously. “Where do you plan to take me?”

“Somewhere special,” Ohno replies with a secretive grin.

Three days later, it turns out Ohno’s special somewhere is the broad river behind his estate that he had told Nino about so many months ago. They take a pair of fishing rods, their lunch wrapped up in a wide square cloth, and spend the day doing nothing more exciting than sitting on the riverbank dangling their lines in the water and talking.

“Lord Matsumoto is married?” Ohno says incredulously, after an offhanded remark from Nino.

“Well of course he is,” Nino laughs. He pulls his line in and casts it again distractedly. “He’s the son of a well-known, wealthy household, he can hardly help _but_ be married. It was his duty, you know, to marry and produce heirs. But the great irony is this: while he did it out of obligation, with plans to only see his wife when he had to bed her, he ended up falling madly in love with her instead.”

Ohno is a captive audience. “Really?”

“Really and truly. He spent weeks pining and wooing her, writing her poetry and buying her expensive gifts—and this was after they had already been wed!”

Ohno laughs aloud, and Nino cannot help smiling at the way Ohno’s eyes slit with amusement and make little wrinkles at the corners. Nino carries on with his story about Jun, but is only half paying attention to what he says. He is distracted—again, always—by Ohno next to him, shoulder to shoulder and so warm from the afternoon sun. He suddenly feels worlds away from his own life, from the clamor of the city, from the Arashibana-za and silk kimonos and gold-painted hair ornaments. The only sounds here are the rushing water, and the birds, and the breeze through the grass. The only people here are himself and Ohno, disguised for the moment in _happi_ coats, short cotton pants, and round straw hats. To anyone looking, they would not appear to be anything more than a couple peasants lazing away an afternoon. Nino wonders what it would be like, to be that person.

“Nino,” Ohno says sometime later, when the sun is lower and the air is growing colder. “Will _you_ get married?”

“I imagine I will, eventually,” Nino says after a pause. “And surely you…?”

“I suppose,” Ohno mutters. He stares out at the water, suddenly pensive. “But I would not mind so much, if I did not.”

Ohno looks back to Nino, then, and just watches him for a moment. There is the tiniest furrow in his brow, and a pucker of concentration on his lips, and Nino thinks _I could kiss him, here, we could lay down in this grass and no one would see, no one would come_. The cold wind blows again, Nino shivers, and Ohno takes a breath. For no reason that he can name, Nino’s own breath catches in his throat, and his heart leaps up to meet it. But Ohno does not speak, and his unspoken words ride away on an exhale, caught up in the wind.

“Oh,” Nino says inanely, tugging on his empty line. “Well. Yes.”

Another moment, and Ohno pulls his line in as well. Picking up the net of fish he had been suspending in the water, he turns back towards the house and does not look at Nino when he says:

“Shall we go back?”

*

Nino is surprised when, some days later, he is called to Jun’s office upstairs after the show. The page who summons him has no explanation for why Jun wants to see him, so Nino takes his time changing into a less ornate wig and cap, and donning a simple pale pink kimono decorated with blue flowers. He compliments this with an ornate obi of burnt orange, and he gives Yuri a conspiratorial wink as the boy hands him his fan and they begin a somber procession upstairs.

Yuri goes in first, kneeling by the door and announcing Nino’s presence. He sweeps in, only to stop abruptly at the scene that greets him.

Jun is sitting by his desk, but not alone—Ohno is there, as well as an older couple who, Nino realizes in an instant, must be Ohno’s parents. Jun motions for Nino to come sit by him, and Nino moves across the room, suddenly self-conscious of the swishing slide of his _tabi_ and kimono over the tatami. He shoots a curious glance at Jun but the other man just gives a little shake of his head.

“And here is Master Ninomiya,” Jun says, “who has been petitioning me quite doggedly for your son’s admission to our troop.”

Ohno looks surprised and delighted at that, and Nino bows to avoid meeting his eyes. “It is only that I admire his natural talent,” Nino murmurs.

“Well, I should think so!” says a sudden voice, and Nino looks up, startled, to find Ohno’s father beaming at him. “And I am so glad that he has finally met someone who recognizes it.”

Nino can only blink in surprise, and when Ohno’s mother speaks up, Nino realizes he must have missed the beginning of the conversation.

“Now, we are more than happy to let Satoshi come to your theater, Lord Matsumoto, and delighted that he will finally have a chance to put his talent to use, but I do hope we can expect to see him in some worthy roles before long…?”

“Mother!” Ohno protests, looking mortally embarrassed. “It is honor enough just to act on the—”

“Come, come,” Lady Ohno says jovially. “They have already praised your natural talent, and now you will be properly trained—and surely Lord Matsumoto has not forgotten our generous donations?”

“Mother!” Ohno says again. “Please, you are too blunt.”

“No offense has been made, my lord,” Jun reassures him. “And of course I intend to prepare you for starring roles in the future.”

“Oh,” Ohno says faintly, with a dazed expression. “Oh. _Starring_ roles?”

“Excellent!” Lady Ohno chirps, and then launches immediately into negotiations with Jun about Ohno’s salary, living arrangements closer to the theater, which pieces of his own clothing may be suitable for future costumes, and a whole host of other things Nino is barely paying attention to. While he has been scheming to get Ohno into the theater almost since the first day, he has not prepared himself for his vague plans to become a reality. 

He finally looks up and meets Ohno’s eyes across the room. Ohno looks just as rattled as Nino feels, but after a moment he manages a smile—and why, Nino wonders, does his chest tighten?—and mouths a silent “thank you”.

*

There are only a few weeks left to prepare Ohno for the final show that will be performed just before the New Year’s holidays, so he is in rehearsals with Shintarou and the other apprentices for nearly every hour of daylight. At night he retires with them to the dormitory house Jun keeps near the theater, where he can practice music and dance with the elderly couple who own the building and make a living training young actors.

Strangely, now that he is so much closer, Nino barely sees Ohno at all. Sometimes he drops in on rehearsals, occasionally doing some of his own training with the apprentice _onnagata_ —Yuri is among these, and still stares at Ohno starry-eyed when he thinks no one is looking. They cross paths backstage when Ohno is given small, one-line parts in the current show, and exchange smiles and a few words, but beyond that there just isn’t time. The leisurely evenings Nino had been spending with Ohno are instead spent at home, or in the pleasure district to keep up appearances. But, though he is still able to fill the hours, Nino finds himself feeling lonely.

He does not fool himself—he knows he is preoccupied with Ohno, but it is a problem he must put behind him. Love affairs with men for business, and dallying with younger apprentices, are one thing, but this infatuation has no place in an adult lifestyle. Honestly, it is embarrassing, mooning over Ohno like a lovesick teenager. Ohno is his friend, and Nino would not think of starting an affair that could only come to a bad end when one or both of them inevitably marry. 

Still, he thinks to himself one night, absently writing out song lyrics by lamplight in his bedroom, still it would be nice to have even a little more time—

His solitude is suddenly interrupted when footsteps come scurrying up the hallway outside his room. A servant, one of only a few Nino keeps, calls from beyond the door.

“Master Ninomiya, the prop-master is here with young Lord Ohno, he insists on seeing you, I could not—”

“Move, please” comes Aiba’s impatient voice, and then the door rattles roughly open to admit Aiba, who is half-carrying a sagging, bloody Ohno.

Nino is on his feet and across the room in an instant, rushing to prop Ohno up from the other side. “What happened?” he demands, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

“The other apprentices,” Aiba begins, then whirls back to the door—almost dropping Ohno—to the servant who is still crouched there uncertainly. “Hot water and a cloth, if you please! And bandages. Quickly! Please!” The servant scurries away again.

“The apprentices,” Aiba continues, eyes wide and panicky. “Shintarou’s apprentices. They were waiting for him after rehearsal, they attacked him—”

“I can see that,” Nino snaps. He takes Ohno’s other arm and begins to lead the pair across the room. “But why?”

“They’ve been stewing for a while—they can’t stand that a newcomer with no training gets more praise from their master than they do.”

They try to lay Ohno down in Nino’s own futon, but he remains valiantly upright. Aiba places a hand on his back when he wobbles. Now that Nino can see him better, he realizes most of the blood is from a shallow cut near Ohno’s hairline, and the rest of his wounds seem minor, though there are some fantastic bruises forming on his cheek and jaw. 

“They drew swords?” Nino asks, fingering the cut and making Ohno wince.

“Just a knife,” Aiba says. He plucks at Ohno’s clothes, rearranging his collar to no purpose. “But…”

“They wanted to mark my face,” Ohno says, finally speaking, but faintly. “Leave a scar. I think one of them was trying to break my nose.”

Nino feels ice fill his veins, replaced almost immediately with a burning rage, a violent need to break the nose of every one of Shintarou’s apprentices himself, right now. He stands, begins pacing, a half-formed plan in his head to go to Jun, have all of them thrown out in the street, to—

“It’s all right. We took care of it,” Aiba reassures him, catching Nino’s wrist as he stalks past. “Ohno had them pretty well in hand by the time I got there, but it was three against one…” 

Before Nino can say anything else, the servant returns with water and bandages, so Nino redirects his energy to cleaning Ohno up—he pushes away both Ohno and Aiba’s hands when they try to help—and to dressing the wound on Ohno’s head. Ohno accepts these ministrations silently, and Aiba eventually excuses himself to go report the incident to Jun and Sho, throwing a worried look over his shoulder as he leaves.

When Nino is finished, he puts the water and soiled cloth outside the door before walking back to the futon to stand in front of Ohno. The other man is sitting with shoulders slumped, staring at his hands in his lap. It is only now that the full realization hits Nino that Ohno is in his home—in his bed—and the room feels smaller and stuffier despite the nighttime chill.

“Well,” Nino begins uncertainly. “Shall I—shall I have a carriage take you…” Where? Not back to the dormitory, no. Home, maybe?

But, before any ending can be made to Nino’s sentence, Ohno reaches up to catch the edge of Nino’s sleeve.

“I…May I just stay here, for a while?”

Ohno looks up, and his eyes are wet in the flickering lamp light. Nino is not aware of making a decision to act, but suddenly he is kneeling and wrapping his arms around Ohno’s neck, pulling Ohno tight against him.

“Of course you can, you can stay as long as you like. You needn’t go back to the dormitory at all, I can teach you singing and dancing just as well as—”

Nino’s words are cut off when Ohno’s arms come up around Nino’s back, tight and trembling. For a time they simply hold each other as Ohno shakes with silent tears and Nino murmurs soothing nonsense and rubs Ohno’s back. It can only be a cruel trick of fate or karma that has granted Nino the time he was wishing for in this way, but he would not turn Ohno away even if he had not arrived bloody and beaten on Nino’s doorstep. Nino imagines there are very few reasons he would ever turn Ohno away.

Eventually Ohno’s shaking stops, but he does not let go of Nino. They breathe softly, almost in time, until Nino breaks the silence.

“You must be tired. You can take my bed, I’ll—”

“Stay,” Ohno says hoarsely. “Please.”

Nino opens his mouth to tell Ohno he was just going to get a spare futon, but Ohno makes it clear he wants Nino even closer than that when he pulls Nino down onto the mattress with him and tugs the thick blanket up around them, cocooning them in warmth and darkness.

Nino’s heart is beating fast as hummingbird wings, but Ohno just curls into his chest with a long, slow exhale. The lamp, Nino thinks vaguely, is still on.

“I am sorry,” Ohno whispers, “if this—if I am overstepping my bounds, but I have…I have missed you.”

The ache in Ohno’s words is like a blow, and if they were not already tangled together from shoulders to ankles, Nino would pull him closer.

“I missed you, too,” Nino says into Ohno’s hair. “I did not think it would be like this, your training. If it is too hard…”

Ohno just shakes his head, a tiny rustling motion. “I love the performing, still. And it is only Master Shintarou’s other apprentices who wish me ill. I just—” 

Ohno pauses here, thoughtfully still but for the careful slide of his palms up over Nino’s shoulder blades. Nino tries to hide the falter in his breath, and his eyes flutter shut of their own accord. This feels dangerous somehow, Nino does not know how to react when he has suddenly gone from only seeing Ohno in passing every few days, to having Ohno lying in his arms. It is foolishness to let Ohno this close, to try and share a bed with him as if they were children hiding from monsters. One of Ohno’s knees is wedged between Nino’s own, and it won’t be long before Ohno notices the way Nino’s body is reacting to his nearness. 

But when Ohno speaks again, his breathing has evened out, his voice is a half-awake whisper.

“…just let me stay. A little longer.”

And then he is asleep.

*

“You have my word they will be severely punished,” Jun says, and Nino can tell he is serious by the very precise way he turns his teacup before sipping his tea.

“Oh, that—that won’t be necessary,” Ohno replies softly. Nino watches as he runs a finger idly over the fabric of the _zabuton_ Jun has provided. Like everything in Jun’s manor, it is of the finest quality, done in a careful geometric pattern of subtle autumn hues. “I don’t want to give them another reason to hate me.”

Jun watches Ohno critically for a moment, and then shrugs. “Well, whether I would or no, Master Shintarou is sure to give them a verbal lashing they will not soon forget. And if they should find themselves with extra chores for the next month, it will do none of them any lasting harm.”

“The least they deserve!” Lady Matsumoto speaks up from her seat next to her husband. “They are lucky they are not in my employ—they would see nothing but the inside of a privy pot for a year!” She is tiny, barely clearing Jun’s shoulder when they stand side by side, but her displeasure radiates from her for several feet in every direction. Her comment puts a little smile on Ohno’s face, and causes Jun to gaze at her adoringly. 

“Regardless,” Nino cuts in, “Lord Ohno cannot stay in the dormitory any longer.”

“Certainly not,” Jun agrees, pulling his eyes away from Lady Matsumoto with a visible effort. “There is, of course, plenty of room here in my manor, and you are welcome to use my carriage to—”

“If it’s all the same,” Ohno interrupts. “I do not mind staying with—with Master Ninomiya.”

“Ah,” Jun blinks. “I see.” He turns to Nino with a carefully neutral expression. “And would that suit, Master Ninomiya?”

Nino pulls his own startled gaze away from Ohno. “It is no trouble to me, should Lord Ohno wish to stay,” Nino replies, meeting Jun’s stare determinedly. “And I am happy to continue his song and dance training myself.”

“I see,” Jun says again, and Nino feels a new weight to the words this time. “I see.”

*

After Ohno is properly settled in Nino’s manor, they fall easily into a routine, going home together after Ohno’s rehearsals are over, and usually eating supper together in Nino’s quarters. Nino is happy for the chance to see how Ohno has improved since he began training, and Nino could not want for a better student during their song and dance lessons. It is not so different from the evenings they spent in Nino’s dressing room, and yet.

And yet there is _something_ different—it is there in Ohno’s touches and glances, how they linger warmly on Nino’s face and hands. It does nothing to help Nino overcome his infatuation, and he feels his resistance to it stretching him, pulling him taut like the skin over a drumhead. It is wearing, more so even than the performances Nino puts on every day, and it shows as the weeks go by. They are coming closer and closer to the last show before the holidays and Sho and Jun both notice Nino’s fatigue and comment on it. Jun even goes as far as to suggest that Nino take the next season off, but Nino staunchly refuses.

Towards the end of the tenth month, Nino and Ohno take a walk out in the garden behind Nino’s manor. It is not much—a grassy expanse a few dozen yards wide, with a rock garden and some stone lanterns for decoration—but there are a number of maple trees with their last autumn leaves about to fall.

It has been a rare day of rest, and Nino is hoping some time in the garden will be relaxing and let him take his mind off his predicament, though this is not easy when his predicament is walking just a few steps ahead of him, bathed in the pink-orange light through the leaves. Nino rubs his chest where it is tight and sighs. Ohno is in profile now, with a firework-bright display of yellow and red leaves behind him. He looks softened somehow, like a painting where the ink has been over-watered. Nino just watches him, as if watching long enough will eventually make him clear, will make everything clear—Ohno and his touches, and how Nino cannot stop thinking about him.

Nino blinks slowly, breathes out, and when he opens his eyes he knows that what he is not admitting is that he is in love.

When Ohno turns to look back at him, Nino knows he should look away, or smile and say something about the scenery, but he doesn’t. He just keeps staring, and Ohno must see it, the way Nino is looking at him and in love with him. When Ohno turns, his mouth is open as if to speak, but when he sees Nino he pauses, searches Nino’s face curiously for a moment and then—Then something happens in his eyes, something surprised, but also hopeful, wild and elated. He opens his mouth to speak again, soft and strangely breathless.

“Nino, I—”

“I am cold,” Nino interrupts, turning away abruptly. He registers the shock, the disappointment on Ohno’s face, but cannot bring himself to look back.

He walks back into the house without another word.

*

_Why did I do that?_

Nino asks himself this as he tosses in his futon that night. Keeps asking himself through the next day, during rehearsals, and as he sneaks around the theater in a very concentrated effort to avoid Ohno. He’s not even entirely sure why he’s avoiding Ohno, except that for some reason, he does not want to give Ohno a chance to finish whatever it was he was about to say yesterday.

It cannot last, though, this avoidance, and Nino knows it. They come face to face abruptly, when Nino opens the door to his dressing room with the vague hope that he might leave before Ohno’s rehearsals are over. 

“Hello,” Ohno says, after a startled jump. He is still dressed for rehearsal, in a short kimono tucked into plain, sturdy _hakama_.

“Hello,” Nino says with as much composure as he can muster. “Heading home?”

“Master Shintarou told me I could leave early,” Ohno says. His eyes are intent on Nino, carefully taking in his every expression. “He said I seemed distracted. It was affecting my performance.”

“Oh,” Nino replies. “That’s…a shame. Well, shall we—”

“Nino,” Ohno says suddenly, catching Nino by the wrist, and making Nino’s breath catch in his throat. Before Ohno can say anything more, Nino snatches his arm away again, and steps around Ohno into the hallway.

_Why did I do that?_ Nino asks himself again. But he knows why, suddenly. 

“Nino,” Ohno says, and then, echoing Nino’s own question to himself: “Why…?”

“I—” Nino does not look at Ohno as he speaks, though he can see him just at the corner of his vision. He feels again the tightness in his chest, so overwhelming, all for Ohno. “I would that you were not so familiar,” he says faintly.

“But,” Ohno begins, and Nino cuts him off.

“It is not seemly, now that you are sharing my house,” Nino says. He feels his tone flatten and leech of emotion. Because whatever Ohno feels, it cannot be the same, it cannot be to the intensity and depth that Nino feels, surely. It will end in a mess for Nino, when it becomes clear Ohno is only infatuated, and a mess for Ohno when he realizes Nino is looking for so much more. “We would not want people getting the wrong idea.”

“We…we wouldn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Ohno goes still and quiet and stays that way for so long that Nino eventually looks up at him. The look on Ohno’s face sends a piercing chill straight through Nino’s heart: there is something there so hurt, and…yes, angry, too. Ohno is angry. And it is Nino’s fault.

Ohno makes a stiff bow, and says, “Then I must honor my lord’s wishes.”

And just as Nino did in the garden, Ohno walks away without another word.

*

For a week, Nino barely sees Ohno. The other man leaves the manor before Nino has risen, and returns long after the streets have gone dark and quiet. Despite knowing that he brought this on himself, Nino cannot stand the silence in the empty house and spends most of his evenings out.

On the morning of the eighth day of his estrangement with Ohno, Nino is awakened by a surprise visitor. One of the bamboo blinds that hang all around his room goes up with a rattle, followed by the clatter of the _shoji_ in the track. It is still early: when Nino cracks an eyelid, he can see through the newly opened door that the sun is slanting into the garden at a sharp angle, making the frost on the leaves glitter and spark. He can also see Sho crossing back over the tatami floor from where he has just finished sliding open the last door. Nino sighs, and his breath comes out in a puff of white.

“Sousuke,” Sho says, and there is a stirring in the futon, at Nino’s back, a groggy murmur. The blankets shift, letting in some of the cold air, and Nino pulls the covers more tightly around himself. 

“I believe there is breakfast waiting for you in the kitchen,” Sho continues, and the boy sharing Nino’s bed recognizes a dismissal when he hears one.

Sho lets Sousuke get dressed and excuse himself, then lights the charcoal brazier under the sunken _kotatsu_ in the center of the room. He lays out Nino’s clothes and hands him a thick, padded kimono in the meantime. Nino pulls it on, and a pair of long pants, before joining Sho at the kotatsu where he sees there is a breakfast of warm porridge and tea laid out for him. After a few minutes of letting Nino eat in sleepy silence, Sho finally speaks.

“I do wish you would at least make a pretense of being interested in women…” Sho sighs, glancing towards the door Sousuke so recently left from. 

“I make a fine pretense,” Nino replies. “I was at Gion three nights last week.” 

“And came home with one of your own pages or apprentices each time.” 

“And what of it?” Nino huffs. “It is hardly unusual for someone in my occupation to prefer the company of men in the bedroom.”

“But it is the wealthy women in the balcony seats that pay your wages,” Sho points out. Nino merely grumbles in response, and Sho allows him a few more moments of peace.

“You are not yourself lately,” Sho says quietly, after a pause. “Nor is Lord Ohno. Something happened between you?”

Sho says it so directly, with so little preamble, that Nino has no time to do anything but look sullen, which is really the fastest way to give Sho his answer.

“Will you tell me, or must I guess?” Sho asks, sounding more weary than annoyed.

“Nothing happened,” Nino snaps. “And that is precisely the problem.”

Sho raises an eyebrow. “He refused you?”

“No!” Nino feels his face grow hot, and hopes it does not show through the chill already pinking his cheeks. “I made no advances. He was—I do not know, he was about to say something, a pointless confession I suppose, but I…stopped him.”

“To what end?” Sho says, exasperated. “It is only driving you both to distraction.”

“I have no desire to pursue a meaningless affair with Ohno,” Nino mutters into his porridge.

“Why do you think all he desires is a meaningless affair?” Sho asks pointedly.

“It could come to nothing more,” Nino stubbornly insists. “We are neither of us in a position to—he is the son of a merchant, and I am…” Nino falters, stabs at the remains of his food. “I am just a peasant who was sold to the theater. What can I offer him besides sport?”

“You are a hard-headed fool,” Sho says flatly. “Ohno gave up any pretentions of title when he joined the theater, as you well know.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Nino shoves his bowl away. He knows he is being petulant, childish even, but he ignores that realization in favor of the chance to release some of his frustration on Sho. “It is—surely it is simple infatuation! He sees in me the _onnagata_ he knows from the stage. It will only be a disappointment, were I to bring him to my bed and disabuse him of that notion.”

“Nino,” Sho begins, but Nino does not let him continue.

“It has happened too many times before,” Nino says to the table, “and I cannot do it again. Not with Ohno.”

For a long moment, Sho does not speak. Then, he picks up Nino’s discarded dishes, stands and walks to the door, turning to fix Nino with a hard stare before he leaves.

“If you are determined to deny yourself this, I cannot stop you,” he says softly. “But for your own sake, I beg you: speak to Ohno. Know his heart, before throwing away one of the few chances you may have at real happiness.”

*

Sho makes it sound so easy—just speak to Ohno, know his heart—but how to do it when Ohno is so studiously avoiding him? How to do it without coming right out and declaring that he is in love with Ohno which will surely only alienate them further? Without a plan and without the fortitude to carry it though even if he had one, Nino simply spends his time brooding and, loathe as he is to admit it, pining after Ohno even more acutely than before.

Only two days before the final show of the year—the _kaomise_ where all the new members of the troop and those apprentices who have come far enough in their training will perform, something like a preview for the upcoming season—Nino finds himself and his own apprentices working with Master Shintarou and his apprentices on a love scene, of all things. The play is a version of The Greengrocer’s Daughter that the theater’s current playwright, Mizushima-sensei, has put together, and the scene is a secret meeting between the lovers. Kichisaburo, a monk, has stolen into his lover Oshichi’s room—the pair have been separated since Oshichi and her family left Kichisaburo’s temple, where they had taken shelter after a fire burned down their home and it is, to say the least, a passionate reunion.

Each of Shintarou’s apprentices, and each of Nino’s, are given a chance at the exchange, but the only performance Shintarou is pleased with is Ohno’s. The _onnagata_ apprentices are all lacking today, it seems. Nino tries to tell himself that his own displeasure with his apprentices’ work has nothing to do with the fact that they are the focus of Ohno’s attention instead of Nino. Eventually, Shintarou’s patience comes to an end.

“Master Ninomiya,” he calls gruffly, after dismissing Yuri with a short wave. “Show us how the scene is _properly_ performed, if you would be so kind.”

For a moment, Nino thinks Shintarou will come and partner him for the scene, but the older performer stays firmly planted on his padded stool. For the first time in what seems like lifetimes, Nino catches Ohno’s eyes. He sees the tightness in Ohno’s jaw, but something else in his expression, too. Something almost…hopeful.

Nino kneels down center stage, relaxing into an elegant half-sprawl. He adjusts his kimono, dressed today in a simpler version of his usual onnagata finery, as Ohno comes to rest on one knee beside him. Shintarou gives them the signal to begin, and Nino meets Ohno’s eyes determinedly. They exchange a few lines—what are you doing here, how did you get in—before they reach the crux of the scene.

“Too many nights have I seen you in my dreams,” Ohno whispers, “and awoken to empty arms.”

Though his voice is soft, and though he has run the scene a dozen times already, such is his skill that there is no other sound in the theater. Even the painters and carpenters have paused in their work on the set.

“Kichi-sama,” Nino croons low. “I too, I too! But you should not have come!”

“I could not stay away!” Ohno says, with feeling. “I forsake my prayers and think on you daily, as my body withers!” Ohno’s eyes burn, his gaze fast and unwavering. “Can you know such longing, Oshichi, as I do?”

Nino raises one hand, graceful, holding his fingers just so as if to cup Ohno’s face, but never quite touching.

“Too well do I know it, my lord, and grow weak with it. I would see all this great city burn again, if only it meant that I might be with you.”

Nino does not intend the desperation to come so naturally, and wants to claim brilliant acting as the cause of the waver in his voice, but he knows better. Again, he is transparent, Ohno sees through him, he must—he grabs Nino’s hand suddenly in both of his.

But before anything else can happen there is a crash from the other end of the stage. Nino and Ohno—and the rest of the rehearsal group—jump and turn to the source of the commotion. One of the carpenters has dropped a bucket of nails, sending the little metal bits rolling all across the stage, and Shintarou is already on his feet bellowing and cursing. The apprentices, desperate as always for entertainment, flock over for a better view of the commotion.

Nino means to take the opportunity to slip away, but he is barely back on his feet before Ohno has caught him by the arm and begun dragging him off. He pulls Nino into the wings, then off the stage and out into the auditorium, through an open sliding door and into one of the first floor private boxes that line the walls. Nino just has time to notice and appreciate that there is a folding screen obscuring most of the box from the stage before Ohno pushes him up against the wall.

“Why?” Ohno says, moving in close, hands at Nino’s shoulders. His grip is not tight, but it is firm. “Why did you stop me?”

“I don’t understand you,” Nino complains. “It was the carpenter who interrupted the rehearsal, not me.” His heart is hammering in his chest thanks to Ohno’s proximity, and he has his face turned away, but then Ohno is turning him back with a gentle hand on his cheek.

“Not that. The other day, in the garden,” Ohno continues, fixing Nino with a determined stare. “You knew what I would say. Why did you stop me when I tried to tell you that I—”

“Don’t,” Nino begins, a last desperate attempt, but Ohno talks right over him.

“—love you? Nino,” Ohno says his name, and Nino feels that old tightness twisting in his chest, something clawing for freedom. “I love you.” And again: “I love you.”

“You can’t,” Nino whispers, voice failing. “You don’t.” He pushes with no real conviction at Ohno’s chest, his shoulders, trying for some distance. “We can’t, it isn’t done—you are a lord, and I am just—”

“I am no more a lord now than you are,” Ohno says. “We are actors, we are freer than anyone to live as we please and you know it. Why did you stop me?” he asks again.

Nino wants to look away, to remove himself from the intensity of Ohno’s gaze that now, like always, seems to force the truth from his mouth.

“You _can’t_ ,” Nino says again. “Whatever fleeting desire has possessed you, you cannot feel _this_ ,” and Nino presses a hand to his chest, to the ache there. “You cannot love me as I—”

Nino chokes on the words, stops them, but Ohno’s eyes are alive with the realization of what Nino was about to say. Ohno leans closer still and Nino closes his eyes against him, his nearness. 

“Please, Nino, I love you, I do. I—I _would_ see the city burn for you, I would do anything, please, just tell me—”

Nino’s hands fist in the front of Ohno’s kimono and a sound escapes him, broken and wordless, as all that he has been holding in finally overwhelms him, the tautness finally snaps and tears and everything comes pouring out—how can he hope to stop it with Ohno so close, talking like this, telling him these things?

“Yes,” he says on a shuddering whisper. He is shaking, practically panting as if he has just run down a mountain, and his eyes come open. “I love you.”

The words are barely out before Ohno kisses him.

Nino has always known that love and tragedy go hand in hand. It is in all the stories, all the plays he acts out day after day, how love comes with suffering and pain—the lovers die, the kingdom falls, Oshichi _does_ try to burn the city down, and Kichisaburo watches her put to death for arson. To love is to feel sorrow. So, Nino wonders, how can this feel so good? 

Ohno presses into him, and Nino winds his arms around Ohno’s shoulders to pull him closer. Ohno’s mouth moves against Nino’s, slick and seeking, and Nino parts his lips to let in Ohno’s tongue. The taste of him sends flames burning all along Nino’s veins.

They part on a gasp, as Ohno’s hands find Nino’s backside and he pulls their hips firmly together. They are both of them beginning to get hard, and the little groan that Ohno lets out only adds to the clenching arousal in Nino’s gut.

“Wait, wait,” Nino cautions, though his voice is breathy and his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. “You have to go back, you—” But then he blinks, gets a proper look at Ohno’s face, and has to stifle a bout of giddy laughter.

“Hmm?” Ohno looks dazed, and searches Nino’s face for a moment. “Oh, Nino, your make-up…”

“Is all over your face,” Nino finishes for him. He fishes a handkerchief out of the front of his kimono and makes a few swipes at Ohno’s lipstick-smeared mouth to little effect. After a moment, Ohno pushes Nino’s hand away and leans in to kiss him again, which can only be making the situation worse. But Nino finds he does not care, if it means he can keep Ohno close like this for a little longer. Their hands clasp around the handkerchief, and somehow that touch seems more intimate than any they have shared thus far.

They are interrupted when the tone of Shintarou’s shouting back on stage changes pitch—he is looking for them. 

“Go,” Nino says, pulling himself away with some difficulty. “Go clean yourself up, first. I’ll follow in a moment.”

Ohno looks torn, stepping back, but without releasing his grip on Nino’s hand. Despite the make-up smudged across his face and the mess Nino has made of his hair, he seems so dear, so precious in this moment that Nino’s heart feels as if it might burst. 

“When I come home tonight,” Ohno says finally, “will you be there?”

Nino squeezes his hand. “I will be waiting for you.”

Ohno smiles. “Good.”

*

Shintarou gives up on the rest of the rehearsal in disgust, but the apprentices are made to stay and practice the song and dance numbers that will be in the show until well after dark. Nino has no excuse not to go home, and after pacing his room distractedly for almost an hour, he decides to take a bath.

As the water in the large wooden tub heats, Nino sits on a low stool on the tile floor and scrubs himself down. When he ladles water over his head, he feels the remains of his make-up, the sweat and grime of the day, all wash away and he shivers in the steamy air. He looks down at his naked limbs, pale and skinny, the soft roundness of his belly, and the patch of wiry hair between his legs where his cock rests, limp yet, though thoughts of what is sure to happen after Ohno comes home would have it stirring. 

And though Ohno has seen Nino with a naked face and out of costume, what will he think of this? Will the love he professes to feel last to bared skin, or after, when his desires have been sated? Will this end like all the others, with Ohno married off to carry on the family name and Nino only a memory? It does not bear thinking of—he has already told Ohno he loves him, there is no going back now. At least they will have tonight. 

Nino rinses the last of the soap from his body, then climbs into the tub and lets himself sink up to his neck in the nearly scalding water.

When he comes back to his room later, wrapped loosely in a yukata, he finds Ohno there. 

Ohno is seated on the floor by the softly burning brazier, flipping through one of the books of print illustrations Nino had left lying around. He looks up when Nino enters, face golden in the lamplight. His eyes find Nino’s after a slow, appreciative journey over the rest of his body, and he smiles, then stands and crosses to where Nino has paused by the door. 

It is so quiet, and Nino is so aware of every sound Ohno makes: the slide of his stocking feet over the tatami, the breath he takes through his nose when he is close enough to Nino to reach out and touch him. His little sigh, when his fingertips come to rest lightly on Nino’s cheek.

“Is the water still warm?” Ohno asks, and for a moment Nino has no idea what he is talking about—he has forgotten everything except Ohno, here, touching him, with only a few thin layers of cotton separating them—but then he realizes: the bath.

“Yes,” he stammers. “Go ahead.”

Ohno smiles again and, after another long moment, steps around Nino toward the bathing room.

Alone again, Nino slips his legs under the _kotatsu_ to wait. He picks up the print booklet Ohno was looking at, but cannot concentrate on it. In an effort to calm his nerves, he puts his head down on the table and closes his eyes. Outside, a light rain has begun to fall—Nino can hear it against the roof, dripping from the eaves—and though he had thought himself wound too tightly to relax very far, the sound of the rain, or the warmth of the _kotatsu_ , something must lull him to sleep. Suddenly Ohno is shaking him gently by the shoulder as Nino blinks back to wakefulness.

“Oh,” Nino mumbles, mouth still thick with sleep, “you’re back.” 

“Yes,” Ohno agrees on a grin. “Are you tired? Would you like to sleep?”

“Oh, no!” Nino protests immediately. He sits up too fast, makes himself dizzy, but Ohno catches him with an arm at his shoulders. “No, I—I can sleep…later.”

“You’re sure?” Ohno asks, a trace of concern in his features, and Nino loves him a little more because he is sure Ohno would go straight to bed with no protest, if that was what Nino wished.

“I am sure,” Nino says. Ohno’s expression brightens, and Nino takes the hand Ohno offers him and is pulled to his feet. Ohno begins to walk them backwards, towards the futon, but his eyes are roving hungrily over Nino’s face, his body, and before they are even halfway across the room, Ohno slows, and then stops, completely distracted.

“I,” Ohno begins, and his hands alight on the knot of Nino’s obi. “May I look at you?”

Nino feels himself flush, and can only nod silently in response. Ohno begins to work the obi loose, but before it can fall away, Nino reaches forward and takes Ohno’s face in his hands, kisses him again just…just in case. Ohno returns the kiss tenderly, carefully, but he is determined—the obi comes undone and drops to the floor with a soft sound. Then Ohno’s hands are sliding over Nino’s chest under the yukata, up over his shoulders, and Nino lowers his arms and lets the garment fall.

Ohno lingers on the kiss for another moment, moves his hands down Nino’s arms until their fingers intertwine, then steps back to look at him. Ohno’s eyes wander all over Nino’s body, across his shoulders and arms, down his chest, ribs, stomach, his hips and his half-hard cock, down along his thighs all the way to his ankles and toes. Ohno seems intent on memorizing every inch of Nino’s skin, and somehow, rather than feeling exposed and embarrassed, Nino feels something more like relief. This is all of him, shed of the last of his finery, and Ohno has seen it and looks nothing but pleased.

“Ohno,” Nino murmurs, pulling the other man’s gaze back up to his face. As soon as their eyes meet, Ohno is leaning back in, one hand coming up to cup the back of Nino’s head, but he pauses with their lips just brushing.

“Will you call me ‘Satoshi’, now?” he whispers. “Surely we are past all formality.”

“I—” Nino fights to keep his eyes open, to meet Ohno’s stare. “If you—”

“I do,” Ohno says immediately, an echo of the first time he answered that question.

“Then—Satoshi,” Nino says on a sigh, and the rest is lost into Ohno’s mouth.

Ohno’s kisses now are more like the first time—fiercer, more insistent—and his hands are everywhere. When Ohno’s mouth moves to Nino’s neck, his jaw, Ohno’s hands smooth over his chest, palms flat and a little rough across Nino’s nipples. Ohno’s fingers count Nino’s ribs, trace their shape around to his spine and trail down, down, nails scraping over his hips and the soft flesh of his backside. Nino shivers and whines, writhes under Ohno’s touch and feels himself become fully hard faster than he has since he was a teenager. He is weak in the knees, already, and needs something to hold onto.

Ohno’s hair is still a little wet from the bath, but soft when Nino buries his fingers in it, and still thick with the scent of camellia oil. Nino fists his hands in it as he has wanted to do for so long, and is rewarded with a low moan from Ohno, voiced right against his collarbone. But Ohno seems to get distracted again, this time by the dip of Nino’s lower back, the hollows of his hips, touching everything but what Nino wants touched most.

“Please,” Nino hears himself say, needier than he would like to sound by half.

“Hmm?” Ohno says against Nino’s shoulder. “Ah. Yes.”

And then, in one graceful movement Ohno is dropping to his knees. His hands come around to splay against Nino’s hipbones, and he looks up at Nino—cheeks flushed, mouth wet and pink, wetter when his tongue darts out to lick his lips. Nino can only give a vague “oh” of surprise and his hands, still tangled in Ohno’s hair, clench. Ohno’s mouth falls open a little farther, his head goes back, pulling the muscles in his neck taut, and he lets out the most beautiful sound of arousal Nino has ever heard. 

“Oh,” Nino says again, and then Ohno’s mouth is on him.

It is clear that Ohno has not had much practice in this, but what he lacks in experience he makes up for in enthusiasm. He tastes Nino slowly at first, adjusting, finding a rhythm. Soon he is moving faster, taking Nino deeper with each bob of his head, and Nino can only try to stay on his feet and not come right away. Without meaning to, he tightens his hands again in Ohno’s hair, and this time when Ohno moans Nino can feel it all up and down his cock, and it is too much.

“Ah—” He does not have time for words, time to give Ohno any other warning, but Ohno does not seem to mind, and just holds Nino steady as stars explode behind his eyelids.

When he his spent, Nino kneels down with Ohno—drops like a sack, more like—and after a moment of fumbling, finds Ohno’s lips for another kiss. It is a shock of the most pleasant kind to taste himself on Ohno’s tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Ohno says when Nino lets him up for air.

“You’re _sorry_?” Nino replies incredulously. “Whatever for?”

“I was impatient,” Ohno says, although he is grinning in such a way that Nino begins to think his apology was not very sincere. Then one of his hands drifts to Nino’s softening cock. “But…are you spent for the night, do you think?”

Nino is very sure that, with a little more attention from Ohno, he could be roused quite easily for another attempt, but he is confused. “Why…?”

Ohno searches Nino’s face, and breathes out a slow breath. “I want you to take me, Nino.”

Nino feels his head spin, and the blood already pooling in his groin again. He had not expected this, had always assumed that Ohno would be like all the other men who came to him after hours at the theater—but then, Ohno has always undone all of Nino’s expectations. 

Nino leans in for another kiss, a little harder, a little rougher, and when he pulls back he says, “Kazunari.”

Ohno only blinks in confusion.

“My real name,” Nino clarifies. “It’s Kazunari.”

A slow smile spreads over Ohno’s face then, and when he says Nino’s name it is like a prayer, like a promise, “Kazunari.”

They finally make their way to the futon, then, and Nino takes his time removing Ohno’s yukata. The skin beneath is fair, changes from gold to peach in sharp lines where the sun has not managed to leave its mark. Nino tastes the different shades of Ohno’s skin, runs his hands over it appreciatively as Ohno’s robe falls away completely. Nino feels another sharp spike of arousal in his gut to see how hard Ohno is already.

“Have you ever been with a man?” Nino asks, laying Ohno back on the futon.

“When I was younger,” Ohno says, eyes rapt on Nino. Not surprising, but Nino feels a small pang of disappointment that he will not be Ohno’s first.

Lifetimes ago, it seems, Nino had placed a little jar of oil by the bed, and he uncorks it now and spreads a generous amount over his fingers. He lays down next to Ohno and sees how the other man is breathing in short, anxious pants. After a lingering kiss, Nino situates himself between Ohno’s legs—and oh, they fall open so easily, so eagerly—and leans down to take Ohno in his mouth and return some of the favor Ohno did him earlier.

Ohno’s reaction is immediate, and noisy, though he tries to muffle his cries behind his hand. Nino slides his slick fingers down the inside of Ohno’s thigh while he works, then down between his legs and gently against the tight ring of muscle he finds there. The pitch of Ohno’s moans changes just a little, needy, and Nino slips a finger inside him.

It takes a little time, a little patience, but before long Ohno is pushing back against Nino’s fingers—two, then three moving slowly to stretch him—and whimpering a low litany of “ _please, please, please_ ”. Nino is already fully hard again, and after slicking himself with the oil, Nino positions himself at Ohno’s entrance. He does not even have time to ask Ohno if he is ready before Ohno is wrapping his legs high and tight around Nino’s waist and pulling him forward.

Nino means to go slow, he means to be careful and make it last, but Ohno is as hot as a furnace and is making such wonderful, beautiful noises. And then, when they have reached a frantic pitch, when Nino is at the edge and searching desperately for his second release, Ohno brings his mouth close to Nino’s ear. His voice is a breaking, breathless whisper.

“I love you, Kazunari,” he says.

And Nino falls.

*

The rain starts to come harder as the coals in the brazier burn low. Nino is tangled around Ohno under the heavy futon blanket, and even in the downpour he can hear each breath Ohno takes.

“Why were you so afraid of this?” Ohno asks. His eyes are closed, his voice a sleepy murmur, and still Nino can only answer him with the truth.

“Not of this,” he says quietly. “Of the afterwards. So we are lovers now, and so we may be for a time. But how long can we keep it? How can I know you will not be taken from me by obligation, by another fancy, by…”

Nino runs out of words, but Ohno does not answer right away. Nino wonders if he has fallen asleep. But then his brows furrow and his eyes open slowly—Nino can just see the glimmer of them in the darkness.

“I would not promise you a lifetime when I have no means of guaranteeing that promise.” Ohno’s hands, on Nino’s back, move up and down thoughtfully. “If I loved a woman, if I were married, it would be no different—there is always a chance of good times, and a chance of them ending. But I love you now. And that is all. It is enough, for me.”

Nino feels himself smile, though there is a certain ache in his chest. 

“Then it shall be enough for me, too,” Nino says, and presses the smile into Ohno’s skin.

Ohno gives a low laugh and curls into Nino’s chest. Nino falls asleep, content.

*

The final show of the season is a rousing success. It plays three times before the winter light is too weak to carry on, though the crowd bellows for an encore, another song, another scene. The ratings books are filled with rave reviews of the Arashibana’s new cast members, most especially Ohno, and bursting with predictions of what there is to look forward to after the New Year’s holidays are over.

When the year turns and the bells toll all across the city—at Gion, at Yasaka Shrine, at Kinkakuji—Nino stands with Ohno on the veranda by the garden. Outside the walls, the sounds of celebration echo in the streets, but everything within the house lies quiet. Snow has fallen, and the ground and the trees are blanketed in crystalline white, casting everything in sharp shadows like a woodblock print before the ink has been set. 

Ohno’s hand is warm in Nino’s, though their breath rises in white clouds. It is the last time they will be alone until the holidays are over—tomorrow will begin days spent with family, visiting shrines, and making the rounds at all the lavish parties and dinners the theater’s members and patrons will be holding. It is the last time, but strangely Nino feels no desperation, no need to rush or fall immediately to love-making. This stillness, too, is precious. 

After a time, they go back inside. Nino lights a brazier and sets it near the bed while Ohno closes the up the room against the chill. When they crawl into the futon, Nino throws their kimonos over top of them like lovers used to do, and they laugh together as they drift to sleep.

The next morning, Nino wakes with the dawn bell. Ohno is there next to him, his eyes just coming open on a soft smile.

And it is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Footnotes!  
> \- kabuki: [the wiki article](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kabuki)! this article will also tell you what a _hanamichi_ is.  
>  \- onnagata: [the wiki article](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Onnagata); [Bando Tamasaburo](http://www.tamasaburo.co.jp/)’s website – check this out for a lovely gallery. Tamasaburo is currently one of the leading onnagata in kabuki.  
> \- seiza: the name for the way Japanese people traditional sit on the floor, with their legs folded under them.  
> \- tonsure: in Japanese, _chonmage_ \- aka, that same sexy haircut that nino had in Ooku.  
>  \- Jun’s role: as a side note which may be interesting to no one but me, as the owner of the theater, Jun would have been something like the producer, with a hand not just in the organization of the plays themselves, but the advertising, funding, and everything else that went into putting on a performance.  
> \- the “-za”: this is a suffix almost every theater in Japan has on its name, written with the kanji 座, “to sit”.  
> \- iroko: literally a “sexy boy”, aka a young male prostitute. many kabuki performers began their careers this way, especially onnagata.  
> \- karuta: [wiki](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karuta) \- a really hard card game that involves matching lines of famous poetry.  
> \- shamisen: a three-stringed instrument not unlike a guitar or banjo. whoever wrote this [wiki article](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shamisen) was really dedicated.  
> \- shoji doors: [sliding doors](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sh%C5%8Dji) covered in (often) rice paper.  
> \- dates: in the edo period, Japan was still on the lunar calendar, so the months mentioned in this story are actually about a month earlier than the ones we use – e.g. the “seventh month” is closer to June than July.  
> \- the onnagata’s cap: since it was illegal in the edo period for men not to shave the tops of their heads, onnagata who wanted to look more feminine would wear little bits of cloth—usually purple or dark blue—over their bald spot.  
> \- happi coats: there is a [wiki article](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Happi), but something it fails to mention is that very simple versions of these were also commonly worn by peasants back in the day.  
> \- zabuton: [a useful pillow](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zabuton) for sitting on :D  
> \- hakama: [wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hakama)’s lettin’ me down – there aren’t any good pictures of men’s hakama in that article at all.  
> \- kotatsu: i think we probably all know what a [kotatsu](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kotatsu) is, but they have had these in Japan forever – the older versions had, as many nice restaurants still do, a depression in the floor under the table where the heater was and where one could place their feet.  
> \- The Greengrocer’s Daughter: is [a real play](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yaoya_Oshichi)! the dialogue in the fic, however, is complete fiction ;p


End file.
